Page 93 of Tied

By some miracle, the first part of my plan falls into place with incredible ease, as if it was meant to be. Now I just need the second part to come together. I text Lukas, my tattoo artist, who’s the king of all things artistic:

Hey—you interested in doing a custom illustration for me?

Lukas

Hey man :-) A tat, or…?

An illustration on paper. A few of them.

Lukas

I’m always up for that. Whatever you need, stop by tomorrow night and we’ll go over it. Come late like you usually do.

I’ll need it fast. Within a week if possible. I’ll pay ya extra.

Lukas

I can do that. Does this have something to do with the girl you told me about at your last session?

Yeah. It’s something special I want to do for her.

Lukas

No charge then. Consider it a gift from me and Ivy. But bring her with you for your next ink. I’d like to meet her.

You got it. Thanks, bro.

Boomer jumps into my lap, knocking my cell phone out of my hand. I pet him as I stare out the window, thinking about how lucky I am that even though I’ve pushed people away and acted like an asshole to most of them, they’re still there for me, waiting for me to come around. Pop was right that awful night we fought. I can still have the life I want.

CHAPTER 32

Holly

My apartment looks incredibly lonely with my and Feather’s things all packed up and piled in the living room. Tomorrow she’s moving in with Steve—she’s packed twelve boxes of stuff—and I’m waiting for Zac to pick me up in his rented truck and take me to New York to begin the next phase of my life.

I have three boxes and two bags of clothes on hangers. As I examine our piles of belongings, it feels very depressing that my entire life, everything I own, fits into just three cardboard boxes.

I’m nervous about the move. Anna has raved endlessly about New York, sending me links and pictures of all the things we can do and see, like museums, aquariums, and art shows. New York looks fascinating, busy, and noisy—easy to get lost in. I guess, in some ways, I want to be lost just as much as I don’t want to be. I want to blend, to not stick out. To not be noticed.

People don’t understand when they ask me what I want in life and I answer that I just want to feel safe, warm, and loved. To see the sky every day. I don’t want money. I don’t want things. I don’t want fancy clothes or cars.

I want my prince, with his beautiful blue eyes and his crooked smile and his messy hair and his scarred-up inked arms, his crazy grinning fox, my fuzzy white dog, long walks in the forest, Christmas trees, and kisses that take my breath away.

Most of all, I want him to ask me to stay, to live in the woods with him in a storybook house surrounded by pretty flowers and wildlife. I want to watch him work and see his smile every day and drink bubble tea. I want to lie in the grass with him, and hear his beautiful raspy voice tell me what all his tattoos mean. But no matter how hard I hoped, he didn’t ask me to stay.

A knock on the door startles me, and I assume it’s probably one of the other residents coming to say goodbye, or maybe Dr. Reynolds. I cross the room and open the door; no one is there—but there’s a large rectangular box on the ground. I look toward the other apartments and across the parking lot, but I don’t see anyone. I pick up the box, close the door behind me, and carry it over to the kitchen counter. I don’t have a knife, so I have to rip it open with my fingers. Inside is another white satin box with the dried flowers with the smiling faces sprinkled on top of it. Cocking my head with curiosity, and with a fast-beating heart, I open the lid, push aside purple tissue paper, and find a brand-new leather-bound fairy-tale book with a beautiful illustration on the cover of a two-story cottage, dotted with velvety moss and flowery vines, surrounded by a thick forest, flowers, and hovering hummingbirds. In the distance is a small white bridge over a river.

It’s titledThe Story of Usin gold flourishing script and has gold metal embellishments on the corners.

It’s breathtaking.

I turn the page, and there are no words, just a colored illustration of a blond girl walking through the trees with a little white dog at her feet.

Tears spring to my eyes, and I cover my mouth with my hand as I look over to the next page, which has a man with long blond hair, also walking alone in the woods, with a red fox running in the distance.

Oh my. It’sus.

I turn the page, and now the couple is walking together, holding hands, and on the next page, they are sitting on a blanket, having a picnic. I turn to the next page, and it’s a winter scene, with snow falling over a decorated Christmas tree in the woods and a white dog and red fox playing with a red bow. Swallowing over the lump forming in my throat, I turn to the next page. Here, the couple is lying in the grass, with puffy white clouds in the sky. On the adjacent page, the girl is sitting in a field of flowers, and the man is watching her from the side. I turn to the last page, and the man is on one knee, proposing, and the girl is smiling down at him.

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